Self-Care
by runespoor magic
Summary: Before this whole ordeal, Sirius would have thought that his worst bit of luck was the twelve years he'd spent in Azkaban. Now that he'd just been done in by a piece of drapery, he wasn't so sure. Or, in which Sirius wakes up in an AU where he's just attempted suicide, and Remus tries to teach him a little something about empowerment and self care. Wolfstar oneshot.


Rated: M for mentions of attempted suicide and sexual situations, just to be safe

Notes: I was a little sad tonight, so of course what better to write but some slightly angsty wolfstar with some hope and empowerment at the end.

Mentions of suicide, blood, prostitution

Self-Care

Before this whole ordeal, Sirius would have thought that his worst bit of luck was the twelve years he'd spent in Azkaban, and losing his best friends. Now that he'd just been done in by a piece of drapery, he wasn't so sure.

And that wasn't the end of it either. When Sirius came to, he took in one huge gulp of air and scrambled to his feet. His first realization was that his arms were sticky with blood, and his second was that the face in the grimy bathroom mirror was fourteen years younger than his own.

However young his face looked, he still had the same pinched, haunted look, but the deep circles under his eyes, instead of making him look gaunt, only served to make him look desperate and frail. There was blood smeared on his cheek. His own, he gathered.

There were memories in his head alongside of his own, and what he realized with growing clarity was that whoever had been residing in this body before him had just committed suicide. That much was obvious from the memories, and if that hadn't made it clear, all Sirius had to do was look down at his arms.

Besides blood covered, each arm was still open and raw from the knife that lay by his feet. The rest of him seemed to be completely intact, but this body was thinner than he remembered being at 21. With shaky hands, he peeled off his blood stained shirt. He could see his collar bones, his ribs, his hip bones, but it wasn't like when he'd left Azkaban. Despite that, the only relief Sirius felt came from the familiar tattoos, just like his own, exactly like his own.

Sirius took in a deep breath, and felt around his own pockets. There was no wand there, but there was a wallet, with a Muggle driver's license that proclaimed Sirius Black.

Squib, Sirius thought instinctively, and the memories agreed with him. The center of his chest, which was usually warm where his magic gathered, felt cold and empty.

Sirius leaned against the bathroom wall. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest and he pressed his hands against his knees and tried to breathe through his nose. He was alive, he was alive, but it felt like too much.

Before he could even think about what he was going to _do_ , how he could get back to _Harry,_ he heard a gentle knock on the door and a chime rang through the house. Hands shaking and still trying to collect himself, Sirius stepped out of the bathroom, hastily wiped at his cheek, and pulled the first article of clothing he saw out of the closet and pulled it over his head as he made his way through the house.

It was a thick, black sweatshirt, which seemed to envelop his thin frame, and he hoped it would be enough to cover his aching arms. A glance down told him he was only otherwise clad in a pair of flimsy boxers, but Merlin, he didn't have _time_ to worry about that, he was losing his mind. He didn't even remember stripping out of his jeans.

He undid the double lock on the door and looked straight up into the face of Remus Lupin. He looked older than Sirius, thirty, his mind supplied, and Sirius didn't think he was a friend. The memories were there, but they hadn't quite connected yet. It felt like they were still filtering through, mixing with his own life, his own memories.

Remus looked surprised at his appearance. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "Is this a bad time? I know I usually call first but – "

"Its fine," Sirius rasped. He hadn't realized how sore and raw his throat felt.

Remus immediately looked chagrinned. "Are you sick? I can come back another day."

"I –"he stopped. He was swaying on his feet, and he realized belatedly that he had lost a lot of blood.

Remus frowned, and then twitched like he was sniffing the air in front of him. His eyes narrowed. "Are you _hurt_?" he asked.

Ah. Sirius thought. Werewolf, of course. He could smell the blood.

"I'm fine," Sirius croaked. He took a half step back and found that he suddenly remembered. Remus was a client. He was a client, and Sirius was, for lack of a better word, a hooker. An escort. A prostitute. A whore. Something. "Sorry," he half whispered, feeling a little sick. He twisted his lips into what he hoped was a polite smile, but at the same time, he knew this face, his young face that wasn't quite his face, didn't _do_ polite.

It didn't work with the haunted grey eyes and the desperate red mouth. And the smile came off wild and a little overwrought.

"You're right, this is a bad time. If it's alright with you, could we reschedule this meeting for a later date?" the soft little voice coming out of Sirius's mouth was not a voice Sirius had ever used in his own life; he didn't even know he was even capable of sounding so gentle.

Remus reached out, but lowered his hand before actually touching Sirius. "Is that _blood_ on your face?"

Sirius froze, and that was all it took for Remus to nudge him aside. He pulled Sirius further into the dingy living room, caught Sirius's right arm and pulled up the sleeve carefully. His hands came away bloody.

"Merlin and Morgana," Remus swore. "What –"

Sirius jerked his arm away like he'd been stung. "I think you should leave," he said, not looking at Remus, his best friend and not his friend at all, and the thought hurt him. "You can call me, later, if you want to reschedule," he said, and he couldn't believe the words were actually coming out of his mouth. Like he actually wanted to – to –

But as Remus continued to stare at him, the realization came to Sirius. He was a _Squib._ Rejected by his family, with no marketable skills, no Muggle education. And bills on the kitchen table that were more than what he could afford.

He had to. It was what he was left with. And no wonder this world's Sirius had decided to end it. But he couldn't – Merlin, _Harry_ …

"I'll pay you," Remus said.

"What?" Sirius asked sharply, looking up at him.

Remus's expression was completely serious. "I'll pay you. If you let me take care of that. I want to."

Sirius let out a bark like laugh that was entirely his own. "You want to…" he huffed another laugh. "You're bloody insane." He thought wretchedly of the bills on the counter and tried not to feel bad about taking advantage of Remus, who was watching him with mild concern. "Yeah, okay," he sighed. "Fine. Just – come in then."

Sirius started to step around him to latch the door, but Remus said quietly, "I've got it," and Sirius stared at him for a tense moment before nodding and then walking to the kitchen. He sat down on one of the wooden chairs and tried not to notice the dirty dishes piling up in the sink and that his mind was telling him that the sweatshirt he was wearing was Remus's (embarrassing) and the fact that Remus had once fucked him on this table (even worse).

Remus came into the kitchen. "Do you have bandages and –"

"In the bathroom," Sirius said, leaning his chin on his hands and then regretting it.

When Remus returned, he looked slightly strained, and Sirius remembered the knife and the mess of blood on the floor. He grimaced.

Remus dragged a chair across the floor and sat down across from Sirius, taking ahold of his arm gently. "When did you…"

"I just woke up," Sirius said, and he was glad Remus wasn't looking at his face, because he was wearing a half mad grin. "On the floor, just now. Before you knocked."

"So…"

"Last night. This morning. I don't remember." And he didn't. All the memories told him was that he had been upset. He remembered cutting into his wrists. Nothing else.

Remus took a steadying breath as he dabbed the blood off with gentle fingers. "This is going to scar," he said.

Sirius didn't say anything. He didn't say anything for the rest of the time that they sat there, not when Remus finally bandaged his arms and cleaned the blood off of Sirius's hands and face. He didn't think he could have said anything else even if he'd wanted to.

He didn't want this life. He hated the way the two lives were melding together, the way that this one felt natural, like it was his own. He wanted to claw at his face, scratch out the memories, and he could feel his fingers twitching.

Remus grabbed both his hands and as Sirius looked up at him he felt Remus press something into his hands. Sirius looked down at the money and Remus stood up to leave.

"You could stay." The words came out rushed and despairing, and Sirius plowed on before he could change his mind. "I mean, you obviously came here for _something_ ," and while Sirius still couldn't believe he was offering _that_ , this time it had nothing to do with the bills he had to pay, but more so the huge expanse of loneliness that suddenly opened in Sirius's chest.

The whole thing ended up being kind of painful and desperate, and Sirius's mind screamed at him that this was not how it was meant to be, not with a client. He'd given Remus too much of his _feelings_ , feelings that were his and not his, and Remus pressed their lips together like it actually meant something.

When Sirius emerged from his bed sometime in the morning, he was alone, and his bandaged arms were throbbing painfully. Someone, he assumed Remus, had pulled the blinds open to let the light in.

He stumbled to the bathroom, bleary eyed, and found that it had been cleaned up. Upon further investigation, he found that so had the rest of his house. The dishes had been put away, his clothes were in the dryer, all of the blinds were open, and there was a note on the counter next to a glass of water covered in perspiration.

 _Sirius –_

 _I won't pretend, of course, that I can sympathize with your problems or understand the kind of pain that you are in. If anything, I suppose I am a contributor to the problem. But despite this, I hope you can take something from what I am about to say._

 _I can tell that it's been a long time since life has been gentle to you. But sometimes it helps if you can learn to be gentle with yourself. There may not be much you can do to improve your situation, but there's something to be said of doing what you can with the small things._

 _I've heard that the most empowering type of self-care is responsibility. Take a shower. Keep the blinds open. Talk to your family if they'll listen, or even if they don't. Fold the laundry when it gets done and this time start over by not leaving clothes all over the floor. Don't let the dishes pile up. Start small and move on to bigger things._

 _All the best,_

 _Remus_

Sirius stood there in the kitchen for a moment holding the note, and when he finally set it down to exchange it for the glass of water Remus had set out for him, it all came together.

The same feelings this world's Sirius had experienced were exactly the things Sirius himself had been feeling at Grimmauld. The loneliness, the feeling like he had no control of his life, everything.

Sirius swallowed. He could see what Molly had been trying to accomplish, cleaning the house and having everyone together for dinner. It was similar to what this Remus was asking him to do, and Sirius understood.

He'd been forced into a body of a man who had no hope for the future, who had completely given up on his life. And the surprising twist of fate was offering him a chance to make something out of the once hopeless life.

A chance for Sirius Black to have a better life.

It took him a while to get to his feet, months, really. Both lives, both sets of memories, came with baggage that Sirius hadn't wanted to open up and deal with. But he tried to take Remus's advice. It was harder than he would have thought, and sometimes it took him four days before he crawled out of bed and into the shower, or to find something clean to wear and something other than stale crackers to put into his mouth.

But he would try to get there, to some better place, and that was the best he could ask of himself.

Let me know what you thought!


End file.
